108 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



" Oh ! how restful, how soothing ! " came from 

 the lips of the one I had been closely watching, as 

 she turned from the silvery sheen, and looked intc 

 my eyes. " Could any thing be more beautiful?" 

 The dancing, happy streamlet waited not my an- 

 swer, but sang its song of welcome, and dashed its 

 foamy fleckness at our tired feet, bringing sweet 

 repose and an upward thought to Him who at crea- 

 tion's birth formed these glories, and gave us the 

 sensibilities to appreciate and reverence them as 

 the work of his hands. And so we gazed in silence, 



" Knowing that Nature never did betray 

 The heart that loved her," 



until the shadows of evening fell upon our pathway, 

 and reminded us that we were far from home. 

 Gathering a few mosses from the river's bank, we 

 bid good-by to the laughing waters ; and, with 

 hearts brimful of thankfulness for the enjoyment 

 which we had received, we sauntered back to the 

 roadside where our impatient horses were pawing 

 the ground, eager for our coming. 



Our homeward drive was joyous and happy ; and 

 to the question, as we alighted upon the piazza, of 

 " Now, sir, aren't you glad you staid another day? " 

 I could only reply, as I looked into those gleaming 

 eyes, "Yes, very." 



